


Stings Like The First Time

by toucanpie



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bondage, F/M, Femdom, Kink Negotiation, Light CBT, Paddling, Post-Avengers (2012), Sub Tony Stark, kink with feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:09:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27477826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toucanpie/pseuds/toucanpie
Summary: A girl's night, they call it. Publicly anyway. In private Pep calls it the one time a month where he behaves himself.
Relationships: Pepper Potts/Natasha Romanov/Tony Stark
Comments: 4
Kudos: 43
Collections: Femdom Exchange 2020





	Stings Like The First Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HogwartsToAlexandria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HogwartsToAlexandria/gifts).



It's hard to take the negotiation thing seriously, but Tony tries. He takes off his glasses for the conversation, he makes sure he's wearing pants, though neither of them are particularly impressed by that.

"Hey, it's not that I don't think this is important, but -"

"Tony," Pepper interrupts. "If the next words out of your mouth are going to be 'can we get to it?', you are not getting your birthday present."

Where his birthday present was her and Natasha ganging up to do very filthy things to him. Which made that statement really unfair. He'd never withheld a birthday present from her, especially not one as tantalising as sex with them both. Sex with pain and whips and maybe handcuffs and leather.

"Earth to Tony," Natasha says. "Or do you need a moment?"

"Back in the room," he says. It's a little debatable, in truth, because at least 30% of his brain is still deep in the fantasy he told Pepper about three weeks ago. The one where somebody captures him and chains him to a rickety old bedframe in a castle and tells him it's time he pays for all his naughty little sins.

"Great," Natasha says, smiling like she knows exactly where his brain is. "So let's start with something basic. What sort of pain do you like?"

"All of it?"

"Tony," Pepper sighs, from beside him on the couch. 

Natasha smiles a nice little smile. One of the ones that it's better not to think about too much. "I'm not asking your ego. 'All of it' is not a good answer if you don't mean it."

She's lovely when she's all nonchalant and commanding like that. Makes Tony think they did the wrong thing putting Cap in charge of their little merry band. Should've let the spider rule them all. They would've all behaved so much better.

"Maybe I mean it," he says back. He probably does. He's had rough sex before. It was fine.

She raises an eyebrow like he's suggested she strap C4 to his intimate parts. 

"You know I know how to break fingers, Tony. Are you saying you'd be into that much pain if it was what I wanted?"

Oh boy. It's probably the wrong moment to try and rile her up, but it really does make him want to.

"Well, I need to be able to work but if that's your thing, give me some notice and I'll see about -"

"No," Pepper cuts in. 

Hah, Tony thinks. The voice of reason is present in the room. His angel in shining adminstrative armour.

"Nobody breaks his fingers."

"Pep," he teases, because the firmness in her voice is getting him all distracted. "Honey, sweetpea, we gotta make sure Nat's scratching her itches."

Pepper squeezes him lightly on the thigh and then smiles sweetly. "Spanking's in right? He's always joking I should spank him when he forgets my birthday."

Tony gets a little perfect thrill hearing the word spanking coming from her mouth. Across the room, Nat's smiling too. 

"And anniversaries," Tony puts in. Not that forgets those all that often. Just sometimes.

"Yeah?" Natasha says, her innocent smile back. "So, until he cries? Until he can't sit down the next day? Until the neighbours bang on the wall?"

Tony sees Pep open her mouth so he makes sure he gets there first. "All of the above, yes please."

"No limits on spanking," Nat says, with some kind of interest, making a note on her phone. "Ever use anything else?"

Suddenly Tony's private fantasy shifts to a hotel suite with a big dresser full of things that Natasha could use to make him beg.

"This is really hot," he says, wondering if he even knows the name of half the things he's imagining. "Have I mentioned this is really hot?"

"Yes," they both say, together. 

"And that I love you?" he adds, in Pepper's direction. 

"Twice a day," Pepper says, "Usually after you tell me you're working overtime or that you made a new coffee machine but it's sentient now."

"This time I mean it," he says. He really, really means it. 

"I know. Trust me, I know."

"Why? Because you know I can't wait to be on my knees doing everything you say?"

"No," she says, adjusting the collar on his shirt for him. "Because you were on time for this meeting."

\--

It goes so well they decide to make it a regular thing.

A girl's night, they call it. Publicly anyway. In private Pep calls it the one time a month where he behaves himself. Which is fair, there's not much chance of him misbehaving when the two of them team up. Not when Nat gets out the rope and Pep pushes him down to his knees with a finger pressed to his mouth. 

(That's his permission to try and keep talking. And when he keeps up with the talking, that's their permission to make him shut up.)

"Tony Stark," Natasha always says, as she winds the rope round his wrists. Like he's a stranger she's never met before, like she wasn't the one who read his list of kinks back to him and asked clarifying questions.

She can pull the ropes so tight he feels the bite of the hemp in his dreams the next day. It's like being in the suit when the power's off. No control at all. Nothing to stop them doing whatever they want with him and damn if that doesn't get him halfway there just by itself.

But the thing is, they put him in rope and he's still just a guy in some rope. Once they've done their part, the next bit kind of has to come from him. He has to make a decision about where he wants the night to go. Because there's two cards on the big old metaphorical table.

One says submit. It says roll around in this, enjoy every second of their approval, eat fruit out of their hands, let them bring out the nipple clamps, let them push you to the bed and ride you like a toy.

The other card says talk. It says draw this out, show them what you got, bite back until you can't anymore, make Pep proud with how long you can keep your cool while they cane your thighs, make Nat so amused she tugs at your hair and lets you rut against her shoes.

He's Tony Stark, of course, so the second card pretty much always wins.

\--

When they set him up between them, on his hands and knees on the floor, he doesn't really stand much of a chance. Not when Pep says she wants to watch while Natasha breaks out the new paddle. And well, it's not as if he needs to sit when he's in the workshop. Standing stations are a thing.

His mouth's going to give him some trouble, though. Pep's set herself up in the armchair to watch and when she has her eyes on him that sharp, it's always a problem to keep a good string of thoughts going. He has to slip into autopilot, sometimes, when she looks at him like that. Like she sees right through of all the jokes and the defence mechanisms to something else. It's like having her hand inside his chest all over again. It makes him toss around uncomfortable words like vulnerable and naked and feel a bit like he might go into cardiac arrest all over again. It's like she's the thing keeping him alive, not the ridiculously expensive hunk of reactor in his chest.

It doesn't help that he's in love with the way her eyes zero in on him every time Nat hits him hard enough to make him gasp. She gets this steady smoulder that always builds up as the night goes on. Sometimes she even gets a tiny bit of perspiration at her hairline. Sometimes she even squeezes her thighs together when he doesn't manage to damp down on a groan. When he's really lucky, she parts her legs and lets him see right up her skirt to where her underwear's wet just from watching. 

Not that she ever lets him do anything about it until much later on. He's only allowed to eat her out in their private bedroom, or on that one amazing isolated terrace in Spain at the farmhouse they rented.

Point is, each burning slap of leather on his ass makes it harder to stop his thoughts from going wild. To prevent little declarations of how much he's hopelessly besotted with her from escaping his lips. He tries to stifle it but his mind fights back. When Nat brings the crop in her other hand to tap against his balls, his mouth wants to tell Pepper how much he loves every single freckle on the back of her neck. When Nat draws the crop back with the tiniest whisper of air, he wants to beg for more even as he breathing chokes in anticipation of the pain. When Nat brings the crop up hard, lighting his balls up with a pain so intense it makes his eyes water, he wants to lay himself at their feet and ask for it never to end.

For a moment he loses sight of her as the tears make his vision waver. He knows she's still there though because he can feel her eyes watching him. Feel the way she reaches out to him even before her fingers slide into his hair.

"Keep going," he hears her say and he loves her even more fiercely for it.

When the crop comes flicking up again, setting the whipped tender skin of his balls on fire, he tells himself the burn of it is nothing against the radiance of her touch.

"Keep going," she says, again.

That time it's the paddle and not the crop, knocking the breath out of him as Natasha switches back to his ass with a broader, deeper thud of pain that drives his hips forward half an inch.

The hurt dances, prickling from his thighs all the way up his butt, his skin throbbing so loud he gets it mixed up with his pulse. Something slides down his cheek and part of him only registers he's crying when he feels the wetness drop down to the floor. His body feels like it's merging together, no longer a thing made of separate limbs. The parts of him that hurt join together with the ones that don't until he's just one jumble of stinging, floating mess.

The next hit makes his mouth go slack, the only giveaway how he can dimly feel saliva on his lips sliding free.

He thinks Pepper's hand is still in his hair, thinks that somewhere she's stroking him, welcoming him home. All he really cares about is that he's where she's put him, doing whatever she wants, whatever she thinks he needs.

"It's okay," somebody says in her voice. "It's okay, Tony. You can let go."

So he does. He stops holding the position they put him in. He lets the deep ache all over win and his chest sink down to the floor. He lets his head lower, he lets his forehead press to the rug, he lets himself turn his face so his cheek is resting on soft fibres. 

He breathes steadily, in and out, in and out. He lets himself feel heavy, zones in on the feeling of Pepper's hand stroking softly, and nothing else.

When someone kisses him on the cheek, the beating stops, even though he can still feel the echo of the paddle against his skin. 

Pepper murmurs something and then he feels her body sink down in front of him, feels her carefully lift his head up and bring it to her lap. There she holds him, playing him like a broken instrument with her perfect gentle hands. 

There he lies and thinks that he is exactly where he belongs.


End file.
